


The Observer

by FogAgain



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25430548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FogAgain/pseuds/FogAgain
Summary: What if someone else was in the Baudelaires life? Someone who completely threw everything off track just by being an observer?
Kudos: 4





	The Observer

**Author's Note:**

> I do not claim A Series of Unfortunate Events as my own. It all belongs to Lemony Snicket. Also this is my first ever submission so any comments, positive or negative are welcome. This may seem like a retelling of the novels from a different view but I will change the plot with a few twists. Enjoy!

The world is full of very odd and strange occurrences and they tend to happen when one is least expecting, such as when one is watching a play about a marriage. It was a sunny day when I heard about the wedding. It wasn't a real wedding but I'd heard there was a real magistrate and apparently a very famous actor, so naturally I was curious, having never been to a wedding before. In any case, I had no choice in the matter as my parents were going anyway, never ones to pass up an opportunity to see a celebrity.

The day started out like any other, with waking up. I was not expected to go to school, as most students aren't on a Saturday. My parents were excitedly babbling away in the kitchen about the play and the famous Al Funcoot, the playwright who created the play we were going to watch that evening. They also happened to say how easy it was to get a ticket, as there were so many left. I didn't know if that was a good reflection on the play or not. The day progressed like any other although I was given the additional job of ironing the family's best clothes. I didn't particularly mind this as I find ironing to be a calming chore, allowing me to reflect on the events leading up to me pressing the iron down onto my father's bowtie. It's a surreal moment, when one reflects on their day. For example, you may have white-water rafted down a raging river and you may be questioning your choices whilst lying on a riverbank some distance from where you intended to be. However, you may also have found some treasured item you previously presumed missing and reflect on your fortune later. Or you may have stumbled into a cafe filled with unpleasant patrons, only to discover a long lost friend over the counter and ponder over if the day was good or bad or possibly like a smoothie, filled with various things, some better than others but combine to provide an overall picture of sweetness with some underlying bitterness.

Eventually, the time to leave arrived and we departed, after my mother checked my tie was done properly and my shoes were polished properly.

"Have faith Mother." I said as she checked behind my ears for the second time in as many minutes.

"One can never be too careful, dear," came the reply, "Besides, have you remembered your glasses, Liam?"

"Yes." I said as we trudged through the hairdresser district of the city.

"I'm sure it was just around here." My father said with a frown as he peered at the map, almost as if he suspected it of committing some petty crime. "Ah, no matter! It's just over there." he said to no one in particular, heading off in the opposite direction towards the theatre.

My father has a habit of talking to himself as he claims it helps him ruminate. Talking to oneself can be considered beneficial as it allows you to take a new perspective on a situation. However, like throat singing, there is a time and place to do so and the middle of the street is definitely fine to do so, unlike a library, which pride themselves on their overall quietness and to suddenly start chatting away would be considered disturbing the peace and may even be considered grounds for a firm ejection from the premise depending on the library. My mother and I had adjusted to his habit but nearby strangers had not had such a luxury and were looking at him as if he had two heads.

Eventually, we arrived at the theatre and seated ourselves after purchasing some appropriate snacks from a pair of pale faced women, which could be either from powder or an aversion to the sunlight. I thought about asking but remembered my mother's lessons on etiquette and thought better of it as "Children are to be seen and not heard" echoed through my mind.

After a short wait during which my mother and father conversed about kitchen cupboards and I read a book about ciphers I had thought to bring along, the curtain rose to reveal a man dressed from an era from some time ago. He had a glint in his eyes and a single long eyebrow which curved over his eyes like some kind of snake. Also, he had a small ink drawing on his ankle that I couldn't quite see but still was noticeable in the gap between his shoes and ridiculous leggings.

"Here I stand," he announced in an over enunciated voice, "literally standing next to a pond."

At this, I gave a small eye roll at his remark as I drew my book out again and my parents began to converse. I only heard the odd phrases, such as "very good" and "incredibly modern" but I could already tell that they were not destined for theatre critical work. Over the course of the next hour, the man gave a very lengthy and frankly unnecessary soliloquy about love, his dog and an accident he was in at the age of thirteen. Soliloquies can be a very useful and interesting way of conveying information to an audience and, in the hands of a skilled actor, can be very engaging as an audience can see what is going through a character's mind. Unfortunately, this actor lacked any form of convincing acting and it more seemed he was trying to read out a menu for a particularly boring restaurant than an engaging speech.

Eventually, the actual marriage commenced and a girl of about 14 came on, clad in a veil and far too much makeup. At this, I put away my book, as I was interested in hearing what the judge would have to say at such a ceremony as law was one of my few interests, along with cryptography and agathology. Then, the judge herself came out and so did a rather small crowd of people, evidently witnesses, came out and one of them was rather small dressed in a ridiculous outfit. After some rather forced and disappointing dialogue, the bride and groom said I do and signed the marriage certificate, authenticating the marriage. Suddenly, the groom started laughing and cheering and so did some of the witnesses. I was not alone in my confusion as many of the audience too were bewildered by this apparent breakdown of so-called professional actors. Then the groom announced himself to be Count Olaf and that the marriage we had just witnessed was actually a real marriage and not just one staged for a play. He then went on to say that he was now Violet, the girl in the veil, was now his legal wife and her fortune was his. A rather useless banker attempted to protest but it was clearly in vain. The judge, now in tears, said that the marriage was indeed legal and there was nothing they could do.

At this, my mother stood up and said "If I knew this would be so modern and avant garde, I would never have come. Come on Liam, this play is trying to be clever and is failing."

I wanted to argue but realised that she would never listen so I reluctantly trudged away, leaving this nuptial nightmare behind.

"Arrest him!" came a cry from behind me and I couldn't help but wish I was there to witness the action instead of walking through the education district of the city. Life is often full of regrets and the more of life you experience, the more regrets you develop. One may regret not telling their friend their true feelings for them when they had the chance or one may regret not betting on something or maybe even regret not getting in a man's taxi when they could've fled the country. Regrets tarnish memories so I like to avoid thinking about my regrets. There is always time to regret later so I tend to put it off until I can regret without regretting regretting. As I turned my back on the police sirens, I wondered the fate of that poor Violet and if Count Olaf was caught. Yet something, somewhere in my mind told me that Count Olaf was caught and behind bars and that young girl was safe somewhere else. However, life had taught me better than to hope and from experience, I knew that whatever my mind thought, that was not how the story goes.


End file.
